


Tenth Frame

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Southside [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty is a BAMF, F/M, I just really love Veronica okay, Mr. Jones is investigating Ms. Cooper, Newspapers, School Dance, Veronica is 50 shades of awesome, Yeah that rating's gonna change, investigative reporting if you know what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: It's going to be a long night.





	1. Rotary Phone

 

The quarter slides into the payphone, and Jughead dials a number he memorized when he was ten. While he waits, he eyes his bike leaning against the booth. It's a old and clanky Miss Gulch model he picked up at a garage sale for a song.

The phone booth is in the far corner of the trailer park, lit by the flickers of a streetlight. Probably Jughead resembles the antihero on the cover of a dime novel under its yellow hue: He can almost write the lurid tagline. “They Were Young, They Were Lovers, Their Passion was Forbidden!!!”

“Hey goofball.” Betty’s voice is warm, intimate.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“You’re the only one who calls my old princess phone. Why don’t you just dial my cell?”

Jughead leans against the old shelf of the phone booth where, countless eons ago, there was an actual phonebook. It’s long gone. “Maybe I want to picture you in your saddle shoes and poodle skirt while we chat.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Having a chat?” Betty punctuates her questions with a slight Oof. Probably she’s getting comfortable on the rosebud quilt. “And I hope Keds and rolled-up jeans work for you, since my poodle skirt’s at the cleaners.”

“Hell yeah they do, that’s early 60’s fashion right there.” Jughead fiddles with the extra quarter in his pocket. “So did you want to go to this shindig?”

“The dance on Friday?” Another grunt. It’s as if he’s in her bedroom – he can see her flipping over to her stomach. “Yeah, I’m on the dance committee, but I really want to come to Southside.”

He peers out of the phone booth at the trailer park. The place seems pared to the bone, a stark and unlovely contrast to Riverdale. “Why the hell would you ever want to come here? There’s no river, there’s no dale, and Good Lord in Heaven, there is no Pops.”

“I get that. Still, I bet there are fun places there as well. I’ve been doing some research, and …”

Jughead tips his head back and lets it bang once, twice, three times on the glass. Research. Of course she’s been doing research. Betty probably already knows the geography, history, the very alchemy of the town where he now lives.

“Stop banging your head. It’s a perfectly good phone booth, mustn’t wreck public property.” She pauses and adds, a tad shyly, “But would you like to come with me to the dance first? We could meet beside the thing in the place where we went that time.”

“Betty Cooper, are you asking me on a date?”

“What if I am?”

“I suppose I could pencil you in.” He sucks in a long breath, pumps one fist in the air, emits a long and whispery YESSS.

#

In a crowd of sequins and glitter, Betty’s jeans and simple button-down stand out. She slips one hand through Jughead’s elbow and confides she stashed supplies in the bushes outside. “So we can explore later,” she adds.

“Still stuck on Southside? It’s the deadest and beatest of deadbeat towns.” Jughead sneaks closer. He can smell her hair with its subtle aroma of soap and ink, as intoxicating as a much-loved book. “But I’m sure you’ve been busy, and I’d hate for all your research to go to waste, so…”

He’s cut off by a giggle, arms around his neck, a flippy ponytail in his face. _See, fellas?_ he wants to say. _This ‘being a beau’ thing isn’t so hard_. “Gotta go talk to the DJ first,” she whispers into his neck. “And check on the music, since Ms Grundy’s substitute isn’t exactly on point.” Betty jerks her head at an old man with a bad comb-over who yawns in one corner of the gym.

Being at a dance with Betty is a whirlwind of crises. She solves the Case of the Toilet Papered Stall, the Conundrum of the Spiked Punch, and the Secret of Moose’s Missing Boxer-Briefs in short order, not pausing in her rounds of the gym until Mr. Weatherbee stops them.

“Mr. Jones,” the principal decrees. Jughead thinks the man missed a calling as coroner, with such a deep and serious voice. “We had an agreement, or so I believed…”

But Betty’s already pushing forward, her fingers linked through Jughead’s. “Principal Weatherbee. Congratulations on another successful soiree. I’ve prepped the catering and written up the deposit from the sale of dance tickets – quite a large sum. You remember my date, Jughead Jones?”

She arches one brow, and Jughead wants to cheer – or at least give a piercing whistle for the genius act he’s watching firsthand. The principal doesn’t lose his composure for a moment, but there’s a slight thaw in the way he nods at Jughead before stalking off to the next victim.

“You are poetry in motion, missy,” Jughead grins.

Betty sighs and rubs the tip of her nose against his chin. “Thanks for not freaking as I help out.”

“Help out? Do you really think they could run a dance here without you in charge – and not have it descend into telenovela status?”

“Did you just…” At the same moment they both point at each other and cry out, “Maldita lisiada!”

“Hello, hive mind.” Veronica wears black lace and her usual smug expression. “That’s so wrong on so many levels, by the way.”

“Maria la del Barrio is the best,” Jughead insists, but Betty’s already interrupting.

“How’re you making out, V?”

Veronica drawls something about small town social events, but Jughead can see the answer doesn’t satisfy his girlfriend. Betty reaches out and grasps Veronica’s hand. “Juggy and I are going to explore Southside later. Come with us?”

Veronica gasps. “Southside? And third wheel? I don’t think so. But have fun, kids.”

She blows Betty a kiss, wheels on one spiked heel, and heads across the basketball courts towards Reggie. “Huh,” Betty muses.

“I speak fluent Betty Cooper. ‘Huh’ means deep thoughts in here, even deeper than usual.” He taps her forehead.

“She’s hurting, Jugs, and she won’t admit it.” Betty pulls on her hoodie and zips it up with one quick, decisive motion. “You don’t mind that I invited her with us, do you?”

“Did you really expect her to say yes?” Jughead edges them towards the exit as he talks. Being so close to Mantle and the rest of the Bulldog bullies makes him itch. “And by the way, I picked up on your little undercurrent with Weatherbee back there.”

They step outside, and he takes a long breath of fresh air. Riverdale School’s gym always smells like sweat socks. “And what was that undercurrent exactly?” Betty asks as she pulls her backpack out of a clump of sad azaleas and hugs it to her chest.

“Don’t you dare attack my boyfriend, Mr. Weatherbee sir,” Jughead chirps in a faux-Betty voice, “when you know the school will go up in flames if you attempt to run a dance without my help.”

With one quick motion she plucks his beanie off, plops it on her head, and scowls. “Meanwhile, I shall stand aside and be oh so pained and gloomy. In a very hip way, of course.”

“I wasn’t gloomy,” he protests. “On the contrary, my stomach got all schmoopy and fireworky when you stood up for me - and I’m secure enough in my masculinity to admit it.”

Betty’s lips curve down in her own signature smile. “Sure that isn’t hunger, Jones?”

“Depends, Cooper.” He settles his beanie back on his head and flicks the teddybear charm on her backpack zipper with one finger. “Did you bring sandwiches?”

Betty walks towards his old Miss Gulch bike and throws him a look over one shoulder that he decides to interpret as come-hither. Grinning at his own stupidity, Jughead hurries after her.

She’s Betty Cooper. Of _course_ she brought sandwiches.


	2. Newsprint

Betty coasts into a dark alley off Main Street and swings one leg over the bike while it’s still moving. She snaps down her kickstand, hefts the backpack over one shoulder, and motions to Jughead to follow.

He brakes, a messy process involving curses and a loud Oof. Betty pauses to ask if he’s okay, and he sucks his tongue. “With this sweet ride right here?” He pats his rusty bike with affection. “Think I’ll call her Elvira.”

“I’m so excited to show you this first place. It's been abandoned.” Betty’s ponytail bounces as she heads to a side door and flourishes with her arms. “Ta-da.”

“Abandoned, huh? You sure know how to sell it.” Jughead frowns at the door. “Southside Telegraph – Betts. Are you kidding me? The Telegraph has been closed for years.” In his case, it's personal: the only paper route he's been able to get is chucking advertisement circulars at unwilling readers on Mondays and Thursdays.

Her face is a lit candle turned up to his in the dim alley. “What if the Register incorporated the Telegraph? It could be good for Southside and Riverdale. Don’t you think? As it is, both towns are stagnant. Fossilized.”

“Humph.” Jughead peers in the window, scratched and covered with whitewash. “Fine plans you've got going, but for now the office is deserted and we’re locked out. Let’s just go to Pops instead. I’ll even pay.” He has a few dollars in his pocket from his miniscule paycheck.

“Not locked out for long.” Betty fishes in her ponytail and produces a bobby-pin with a triumphant grin.

#

The office is small, dusty, and shadowed with night and neglect. There’s a single desk and an ancient file cabinet leaning drunkenly against the far wall.

Betty doesn’t hesitate. She marches to the old files and pokes at the drawers. “There might just be something in here,” she mutters as she fishes around with her bobby-pin. “Find the flashlight I stashed in my backpack for me?”

By the blue beam of a Maglite, Betty wrestles the top drawer open and flicks through a few old files inside. “Apodyopsis, Ashblah… Here it is.” She pulls out a folder marked Andrews.

“Is that information about Archie?” Jughead blurts.

“No, of course not. It’s about his father.”

“And this file just happened to be inside an abandoned newspaper office in my new hometown,” Jughead points out.

Betty wrinkles her nose. “Life is stranger than fiction, etcetera.”

Jughead directs the flashlight square into her face. “Did you know there was a file about Fred Andrews when you broke in here? Because I’m all sorts of impressed right now.”

“It was a guess. Funny how it worked out, though.”

"Think this will throw any light on what happened to Archie's dad?"

"Don't know, but we're going to find out." She stashes the file in the front pocket of her backpack. “I’m serious about combining the two newspapers, Juggie. Riverdale is behind the times in a lot of ways – we need the Telegraph. I know I can’t do anything about it now, but maybe after high school, or more probably college, I can bring this office back to life. ”

“You want to run a few newspapers? Because those things are dinosaurs. The Telegraph won't get top billing at the World Fair anytime soon, Thuvia.”

Betty slips her pack on one shoulder. “Fake news is a serious epidemic, and it’s getting worse. Now more than ever we need good newspapers to find the truth and report it.”

In the gloom she looks like a young Lauren Bacall. “Actually, I can picture you working here,” he muses. “Bet you could write an editorial, talk on the phone, and chew gum all at the same time.” Jughead sidles closer and sneaks his arm around her waist. “You’d be all, ‘It’s a doozy of a scoop, I tell you, it’s a bombshell.’”

“Mmhm.” She kisses the underside of his chin, his neck, right on his ear where it drives him crazy. “Will you come and write with me, Jones? Can’t break a major story without my partner…”

He gabbles a string of incomprehensible words about how of course he’ll work with her, there’s his employment situation all nicely settled, thank you very much Ms Cooper, and swoops in for some investigative journalism of his own. “I’m hungry,” Jughead whispers between kisses. “Starving.”

So then it’s all Betty’s breath on his cheekbone, and sweet Almighty in heaven, Betty’s thigh under his palm, and Betty’s soft lips parting and something running over his foot …

_Something. Running over his foot._

Jughead lets her go. He squeals, flails, and nearly falls over her backpack. “Mouse!” he cries. The flashlight beam wobbles wildly as he darts the light around the old office, trying to see everywhere at once.

“Relax, Juggy.” Betty smoothes back her hair and rescues the Maglite. “See? Your big monster won’t get you. The poor mouse is caught in that cobweb in the corner.”

_Cobweb in the corner._

Which means they are sharing the office with a spider large enough to catch a mouse in its web.

He shrieks and dashes out of the office. In the cool air of the alley, Jughead shudders and flicks imaginary bugs off his arms. “Ughhh,” he shivers. “Brrrrrrr. Ew ew ew ew ew.”

Poised as a socialite at a yacht launch, Betty closes the door and puts one bracing hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I rescued the poor thing, and it scurried off to its mouse hole. Although I think I need to rethink the paper’s name after tonight’s events. Maybe Valkyrie Press? Or Soprano News. You reached high C with that last squeal.”

His jaw drops. “Did not!”

“Did too. I never heard such a high register.”

“Hur hur, Register.” Somewhat recovered, Jughead drops his voice as low as possible. “Ahem. I was just caught off guard – Betty! There’s something touching my neck! Getitoffgetitoffgetitoff.”

She doesn’t move. “It’s _your hat.”_

“Oh.” Jughead blows out a breath and waits until he’s certain he won’t have a coronary. “Maybe we could go to a place with lights and doors you don’t open with beauty shop implements.”

Betty bursts into laughter, the kind that apparently involves knee-slaps and unladylike snorts. “Well,” she says at last, “it just so happens Southside has a bowling lane nearby, the kind where you keep score with paper and pencil. Sweet, right? What do you say, old pal, want to go bowl a few frames?”

“Brilliant plan. We haven’t bowled in years.” He slides her a quick glance. “Still starving, though, you know.”

“I know. No worries.” Betty goes on tiptoe and presses one last kiss, rich with promise, on his mouth. “I’m all over it.”


	3. Perfect Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty meets some of Jughead's new friends from Southside High.

The ‘Bowl and Bang’ sulks in the center of a trash-spangled lot. Jughead yanks open the heavy glass door and waves Betty inside the alley, which boasts all of four lanes. One is already in use by two players who huddle over their score pad, immersed in an argument.

“Pick the one you want, folks.” The attendant waves a listless hand at the other three lanes. His shirt bears a tag with Sporty scrawled on it in green Sharpie. “Shoes?”

Betty has her own, so Jughead picks up a pair. “Woah,” he marvels. “The snack bar has corn dogs. Corn dogs, Betts.”

She sits on a plastic chair to put on her shoes. “Uh huh. And pizza, and chicken wings.”

“Suh-weet.” He puts on the rental shoes as quickly as he can, but Betty catches sight of his big toe sticking out of a huge hole in his sock. “Oh yeah,” he adds weakly. “Forgot to change my socks, darn it. _Darn. G_ et it?”

“Ha. Ha.” Betty frowns at her own shoe, a sign she’s deep in thought. Jughead has a fair idea what’s on her mind: a desire to buy him socks, or maybe even _knit_  him socks. But she knows he’d flip at any suggestion of charity (other than free fries) so she’ll suppress the urge to update his footwear. “Juggie,” she blurts, “remember the last time we bowled? I nearly got a…”

“…Perfect game. I remember. But then Archie arrived with some wench on his arm and threw off your concentration.” Jughead ties the second set of laces with unnecessary vigor.

“I was a dope.” She’s leaning her chin on clenched fists. It occurs to Jughead that Betty looks particularly pretty in the dim light of the alley. “But he could waltz in here with an entire harem now, and it wouldn't matter. Not to me, at least, although I'd have to punch him for Veronica's sake. Not that I don’t love Archie, because I do. Always will. But everything’s changed.” Her knee bonks against his.

Jughead’s about to pull her in for a quick smooch when someone claps his shoulder and says his name. “Hey, what the hell are you doing here?” Grillz demands. He’s flanked by the girl with the blue hair, the one whose name changes each day.

He smothers a groan and stands up. “Hey, Grillz. Uh, are you Poppy today?”

“Daisy,” the girl says.

“Daisy. Right.” Betty nudges him again, more forcefully. “And this is Betty. Who is, you know, my girlfriend.”

She stands and, in one smooth motion, extends her hand. “Grillz, Daisy. So nice to meet you.”

Betty has been offered an intern position by the mayor. She consistently gets all A’s and is a shoe-in for Valedictorian. However, Grillz makes a face, measures her with a long up and down glance, and doesn’t take her hand. After a long, awkward moment, Betty pretends to fix her ponytail. “So would you guys like to join us?”

Daisy ignores her. “How dope was that war at lunch? We’re picking up where we left off on Monday if I don’t ditch.”

Grillz hoots. “Soaker!” He envelops Jughead in a massive embrace. “Soaker soaker soaker!”

By the time Jughead disentangles himself, Betty has disappeared.

#

He finds her by the snack bar, studying the list of pizza toppings. “We’re out of hot peppers,” Sporty says. “You’re hot enough already, though, for real.”

“Hi, _lambchop.”_ Jughead puts his arm around her and glares at the kid.

“Hey.” Betty looks up from the menu. “Should I get one pizza or two? Don't answer that dumb question. I’m getting two  _and_ a plate of wings, please.”

“And corn dogs!” Jughead calls.

Sporty nods, heads to the deep fryers, and loads the basket. When Betty’s not looking, the guy leers at her. Jughead promptly sticks out his tongue, and Betty punches his side. “Stop it.”

Jughead pulls her in for a hug and whispers in her ear, “Sorry about those guys back there. I can't believe they acted like that. We can leave right now if you want - Pops is always an option.”

Betty breaks out of his embrace. “Leave? No way. I just ordered all this food, and I can’t wait to beat your ass at bowling. Plus,” she adds, “I think I just got a small taste of what you dealt with every single day at Riverdale High, Juggie.”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. “Oh! Huh. I guess you could put it that way.”

“I guess I could. And by the way, it’s important to get a dose of reality, break out of my mindset. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m stuck in a place of privilege.” Her smile is wide and untroubled. “This could be really good for us. I’ll be able to relate to you on a deeper level.”

“Deeper level, huh? I think we do okay.”

“I take it Soaker means Supersoaker wars?” Her tone is light, but Jughead has the feeling she’s got a Cooper move planned.

“Yup, Southside has a proud tradition of water-pistol fights under the cafeteria tables.” He can’t help boasting, “My team usually wins, too.”

#

Daisy, it turns out, can really pack away the pizza. She and Jughead wrangle in a friendly manner over the final slice while Betty sets up the score pad for a game. “You guys ready to play?” she asks.

Grillz starts off with a spectacular strike. But when it's Betty's turn, she slips and misses an easy spare. “Yes!” Grillz hollers. “That’s what I’m talking about. You want to bet I get high score?” The guy’s brash manner and loud voice would be irritating if Jughead didn’t know he takes care of his brothers and a dad with PTSD.

“Sure.” Daisy waves a twenty in the air. “I’ve got funds.”

Jughead expects Betty to decline, but she surprises him. “You’re on,” she declares.

The next few frames are surreal. Betty misses another spare, rolls a nasty split, and on the fourth frame drops her ball so it rolls backwards. “Oh dang,” she says. “How embarrassing.”

Flabbergasted, Jughead opens his mouth to demand an explanation, since the Betty Cooper he knows can bowl in her sleep. But she widens her eyes, shakes her head slightly, and that’s when he gets it.

He’s about to watch a major hustle take-down.

“Double the stakes?” Grillz’s grin widens.

“Sure.” Betty waves a plate under the kid’s nose. “More wings?”

#

From that point, it’s all over. Betty proceeds to roll strike after strike while she keeps meticulous score on their score pad. When Jughead returns from his own 7-3 split, he catches her high-fiving Daisy.

In the tenth frame, Betty has to get three strikes in a row in order to win. Just as she’s prepping for her last one, Grillz opens his mouth, probably to let loose a howl and throw her off. Before Jughead can warn Betty, Daisy lunges forward and smacks the kid on the arm. “Don’t,” she warns. “I want to watch this.”

Jughead can only stand back as his girl, with perfect bowler form, throws a mean strike for the final score. Daisy erupts in applause, and even Grillz is smiling when Betty returns, all demure blushes.

The only thing bugging Jughead is the money. Grillz, after all, can’t really afford the twenties he pushes into Betty’s palm.

But as they walk out to the parking lot, Jughead finds he’s underestimated her yet again. “Actually I cheated,” Betty admits. “I ordered extra greasy wings and didn’t eat any, which is probably why your friend missed his last split.” She holds out the crumpled bills. “Can you do a reverse theft for me, partner?”

He takes the money, stuffs it into his jacket, and climbs onto Elvira. Like Betty, he’s already got a plan. On Monday he’ll place a hefty bet with Grillz on the cafeteria water pistol war and make sure to lose.

Pedaling furiously after Betty’s trim, upright form he yells, “Cooper! Where’re we going next?”

“Is there any doubt?” She pops a wheelie off the sidewalk. “Next up, the Drive-in.”

_That’s one hell of a dame you got there, Jones_. Elvira seems to catch his mood, and the old bike soars over the cracked pavement.

Maybe, if he and Betty pedal fast enough and long enough, they’ll zoom out of Southside altogether. Their bikes, like winged horses, might just take flight and carry them both straight up to the moon and stars.


	4. Concession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mysteries at the drive-in.

The truth hits Jughead when he sees a sign for The Moonlit Theater just out of the town of Southside. He and Betty are going to a drive-in _on bikes._

“Just wait,” Betty hints when he makes his worries known. “I promise we won’t have to sit tandem to watch Jane Russell.”

“Wait. Are you telling me we’re watching the brunette bombshell herself?” His jaw drops when he sees the fly-specked letters on the marquee: GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES.

Betty coasts up the driveway. Jughead, following, sees a small screen with a surprising amount of cars dotting the parking area. Betty stops beside a kiosk, whispers to the attendant within, and receives an envelope plus two tickets.

She jerks her head at the lot. “C’mon. I can’t wait to reveal my final surprise of the night.”

#

He sees some of the parked cars are empty as they drift through the lot rows, punctuated with old-fashioned speaker stands. Betty bikes to a white and turquoise number that looks as if it drove straight out of American Graffiti and flips down her kickstand. “Here, Jug.” She runs one reverent finger over the hood and adds, “Just look at this Chevrolet Bel Air, circa 1955.”

“Yeah, that means nothing to me – Bets! What’re you doing?” Jughead lets his bike crash to the ground and grabs her wrist when she slides a key out of the tiny envelope that opens the front driver’s door. “Are you nuts?”

“Relax. They actually rent these out for dedicated moviegoers.” Betty slides into the driver’s seat, reaches over to pull up the lock on his door, and grins as he climbs in. “Sweet ride, right?”

“Wow.” Gingerly, Jughead scooches next to her on the roll-and-tuck seat. “For a second there I thought you were stealing a car. I was about to have a heart attack.”

She props her elbows on the steering wheel and turns it back and forth. “It doesn’t have an engine, though. None of them do. Whaddya think this baby sounded like at top speed? Chugga chugga or Nyoooooom?”

“Uh huh.” The seat is comfy after their long night of biking around, and Jughead stretches out his legs. “Why do I suspect a Cooper scheme about to hatch?”

She bounces to face him, her ponytail curling with enthusiasm. “Juggie-we-can-get-this-car-for-peanuts.” Her words spill and and the backpack falls on the floor mat, but she ignores it. “I know I could rebuild it, have it ready to go by the time we both get our licenses.”

“How about insurance?” He hates to deflate her, but someone has to be realistic. “There’s no way I can afford it. Look at us right now – you bought me a movie and our games at the bowling alley. Oh, and you rented Old Blue here.” Jughead pats the car to let it know he’s not blaming the Bel Air. “All I paid for all night was bowling shoes.”

“Well, maybe I can drive us around and be your chauffeur.” Betty raises one eyebrow. “I could borrow Smithers’s uniform…” She’s cut off by Marilyn and Jane singing A Little Girl from Little Rock, their voices tinny on the drive-in speakers.

Jughead slides closer to whisper that Smithers’s uniform would be way too big, but maybe the cap would be okay and he likes the way her mind works. “I’d be penniless with a private driver,” he adds. “It would be hip _and_ ironic.”

On the screen, Gus brings Lorelei diamonds while Dorothy looks on with a few snappy wisecracks. Betty puts out her hand and catches Jughead’s fingers. “I offered to review The Moonlit Theater in the paper,” she declares in triumph. “They gave me free tickets _and_ a night in the Bel Air, so you can stop it with the running tab.”

Tension he didn’t know he had uncoils like a fishing line after the trout escaped through Jughead’s body, and he ducks his head in Betty’s perfectly-laundered collar. Marilyn herself gyrates on the screen, but Jughead figures he’s with the better blond.

“Hey, want to look at that Andrews file? We really should wait until we’re somewhere partly official, like an office or a library.” Betty raises one eyebrow.

Jughead leans back. “Once again, Cooper, you’ve hit the nail on the proverbial head. I would like to see that file very much.”

#

By the dim dome light, they page through the items in the umbrella file. Most of the stuff ties back to Andrews Construction – receipts bound with rusty paperclips, old tickets, a write-up of an interview Archie’s dad gave to the Register.

“Guess that’s it.” Betty tosses the file on the seat between them. ‘Spose we just have to make out now.”

“Well, don’t sound so excited.” Jughead picks up the folder, takes out all the contents, and shakes it. “Say, Bets. Does the file feel heavy to you? Weighted in one corner? There’s something else in here, I think.”

Betty’s mouth drops open as she fishes inside and produces a small metal object. “Look! Taped to the inside. Well done, sir, well done. Here’s to the continuing successful streak of Cooper and Jones.”

“Jones and Cooper,” Jughead rejoins automatically. He peers at the object, a tiny key. “Is that a locker key? A real locker key? All my life I’ve wanted one of those babies to fall in my lap! Now we go and figure out where the locker is like real gumshoes, except of course the bad guys chase us out of the train station. Maybe we drive down a pier in this new car of ours, right off the end and they think we’ve drowned but we hold our breath and swim to an offshore cigarette boat driven by…”

“…Me, since I’m your chauffeur.” Betty bites her bottom lip with white teeth. “Going on a date with you is like reading a novel, and I mean that in a good way.”

“Well, going out with you turns me into a babbling doofus, as we’ve already proved.” Jughead touches the tip of her nose, very gently, with his knuckle. “And I mean that in a good way too. Hey, remember in 5th grade when we thought Dilton had an entire planet in his science lab?”

Betty’s eyes glow with enthusiasm. “Except you exaggerated and said he had created an entire pocket universe, and if we found it we could travel in time, so we pretended to stay after for extra math practice and snuck in. And remember how disappointed we were when there was nothing inside except an old mascot uniform and stacks of petri dishes?”

Her flashback leads to a long conversation about Dilton’s experiments and their drastic consequences, Reggie’s ongoing feud with Dilton and Moose, and a short story Jughead wrote called _Open the Door, Dilton._ “You know,” he concludes, “when the zombies arrive I want to be in Dilton’s basement. That guy knows how to survive.”

Betty flicks the file with one finger. “We really should show this to Arch. What do you think? Did we just move from amateur detective to douche-y snoop level by not telling him first?”

“The snoop douche / private dick dividing line is a haphazard and fuzzy boundary at best.” Jughead reaches out and smoothes the worried droop of her ponytail. “You see Archie everyday. What do you think about his mental state?”

An infinitesimal shake of her head, as micro as it is chilling. Something, it seems, is very wrong with their old friend.

On the screen, Lorelei and Dorothy are about to walk down the aisle in a double wedding. Jughead’s heart sinks. It’s the end of the movie already, and he’s done nothing but yap about classmates and mysteries. If anyone is a failure as a hormonal adolescent, it’s him. “We’ve missed the show,” he says, jerking his thumb at the screen.

“That we did, and I had big plans for out-bantering the amazing banter. But the best part’s about to come up,” Betty says. “That’s right, my friend – I’m talking _concession stand commercials._ ”

“Dancing hot dogs?” Jughead perks up.

“Dancing hot dogs indeed.”

“I thought about seeing you today. All day,” he blurts. There, he knew if he kept flapping his gums some drippy junk would eventually fall out.

But she doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, Betty’s face morphs through surprise, delight, and a new expression of such warmth his stomach is about to fall out on the floorboards of the Bel Air. She interrupts herself in the middle of saying she’s thought about him too by planting a big one right on his lips.

And then it’s all over. Antique cars, old movies, and the Andrews file flash out of existence under the influence of her hands and skin.

“Juggie…” Such a soft whisper, followed by the sweet taste of her lips and a brush of tongue. He groans and reels her in. It’s like falling into a warm sea, all green and blue and gold.

Jughead is brought out of the depths when she breaks the kiss suddenly and claps her hands together. “Bus,” she declares.

“Wow. Do you always think about transportation methods when we pitch woo?” Jughead knows he’s grinning like a loon.

“No, I mean the bus _station._ I bet …

“…the key we just found will open a locker there. You, madam, are a genius.” Jughead leans forward to kiss her neck.

“Juggie.” Betty places both palms on his chest. “We got really carried away that night after Pop’s. Honestly, I don’t know what he puts in those shakes. But I can’t do anything that would compromise my family, much as I want to be with you.”

He frowns and shakes his head to clear it. “Wait, what?”

“If we – you know – gosh, Jug. My sister and my mom got pregnant in high school. I’m afraid it runs in our DNA. I just can’t gotobedwithyouI’msorry.” The last words rush out in a flood, and she flushes pink.

Jughead is shocked. “No, of course not! My stars, woman. I’m sorry if I gave you the idea I’m of loose morals just because I let you get me alone in this car. Stop laughing and listen – in all seriousness, that’s not what I think about when I… wait, that doesn’t sound right. Of course I think of you that way. But I’m going to protect you, Bets, not get you into trouble.”

“Oh.” Her voice is very small in the old car. “Well, what _do_ you think about? When you, um, think of me that way?”

Around them, the sounds of a cool spring night embroider the air. Several early tree frogs argue, and a single firefly stitches the dark air. On the large screen, animated snacks get into a conga line. The interior of the Bel Air smells pleasantly of must, popcorn, and engine oil.

His hands shake as he reaches for her and pulls her close once more. There, in the parking lot of the drive-in, Jughead whispers to Betty exactly what he wants to do when he gets under her skirts.


End file.
